


One Shots

by onborrowedwings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:56:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onborrowedwings/pseuds/onborrowedwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots related to Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane that end up sneaking into my brain and won't go away until I write them down. The first two were inspired by other directions that Cut it Out and then Restart could have gone in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1st - Warning for dark themes, character deaths and suicide.

Blackwater AU - in which Sansa agrees to marry a Frey for the sake of her brother's alliance. 

They find her perched on the windowsill in a crouching position, arms braced against the enclosure, the long sleeves of her gown spread out like wings. 

“Lady Sansa, please step down from the window.” the man whom they have made her husband says, a fear evident in his voice as walks towards her, one hand out in a calming gesture.

He is not the worst of them, she knows this, but he is one of them nonetheless. 

It has been two days, two days since they killed her mother, her brother… Sandor. Killed them at what was meant to be her wedding feast.

She had assumed that she was the lamb being brought to slaughter, oh how wrong she was. 

“Do not come any closer.” she warns him, and her voice does not waver once. He lifts both his hands now to show that his intentions are safe, even as others appear in the doorway behind him. She cannot remember his name in that moment, this man, she does not wish to.

They killed her mother and her brother in the hall below, their friends and bannermen with them. Sandor had made it all the way up the stairs to her room before he had been cut down, killing at least thirty men, eighteen Freys among them. She had heard the noise outside the room even above the music and had moved to open the door even as her husband tried to stop her, even as Sandor Clegane had been cut down outside to die at her feet.

She had held him, seen the light leave his eyes as they had looked into hers. Screamed as they pushed her back into the room, locking the door behind her.

She does not know what they did with his body, she only hopes they have not burned it. Of her mother and her brother… she does not wish to know.

For a day she asked after her family, but she is not naïve now as she had been at King’s Landing. She could see the evidence of the carnage from her window as she sat alone in that room, she knew what had occurred.

When Sandor Clegane had taken her from King’s Landing she had not imagined that she would be exchanging one cage for another, that she would be leading the other wolves to slaughter. 

She should have refused when they asked it of her. Family, Duty and Honour have brought her here.

“There is nothing to fear, Sansa.” the man whom they have made her husband tells her, approaching slowly. “You will not be ill-treated. I mean to be kind to you.”

She lets out a laugh, her last laugh, hoarse and bitter to her ears. The sound of it reminds her of him, of all that she has lost. There is nothing left to her now except one final act of defiance. 

She is not sure that she believes in the gods anymore, nor in heaven nor the hells. She only hopes that wherever she goes, that he will be there, along with the others she has lost. 

Little bird, he used to call her.

“You shall not have the North through me.” she tells them. 

And then she flies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwater/Cut AU - In which they are late arriving to Riverrun

They are late arriving to Riverrun. 

Heavy storms that turned the roads to muck and made the rivers impossible to cross, brigands and outlaws who must either be fought or avoided. There are five fights, three times they are forced to double back and choose a new road. Once, when the weather is particularly bad, they shelter for an entire week in an abandoned cottage, she taking the small broken bed and he the floor. 

They are rarely dry and hardly ever warm and it has become second nature for her to seek out his warmth once they make camp. 

He will wrap his arms around her, rubbing her arms to rid her of the goosebumps, chafing her hands in his when they’re freezing and her teeth are chattering to bring a bit of colour back to her cheeks.

He will not look her in the eye while he does so.

He aches to reach for more but will not allow it for himself, even as she edges closer day by day, peeling away his layers.

They are late to Riverrun by only two days, her brother and mother having left to attend her Uncle Edmure’s marriage to a Frey at the Twins. Only the Young Wolf’s wife remains behind with the Blackfish, an awkward introduction to be made. Her great-uncle is not quite sure what to make of a Lannister turncloak though he welcomes the little bird warmly.

Sansa asks whether they should follow her family in the hopes of catching up but Sandor only laughs roughly. 

“Better not to, little bird. Might give the Freys some ideas about another alliance.”

She shudders at the thought, and is content to wait for their return. 

They are ten days there and then suddenly there is the Blackfish waking him in the middle of the night, with news passed by way of scouts and villagers. 

They wake her together, and immediately she knows that something is wrong. This time he cannot look away, she sees the truth of it in his eyes. 

She sobs, broken in more ways than he knows how to fix. 

But he holds her anyway when she reaches out to clutch him, not caring what her uncle might think for once. He holds her anyway and wishes there were more he could do as she sobs and screams and rages, pounding his chest in her grief, tearing at her clothes. He holds her until she is still, until she cries silently, eyes closed, and her head resting against his chest. Then he lets her go. 

When he looks up, the Blackfish is watching them with a thoughtful expression.

“You’ll leave tonight.” Her great-uncle announces, “We don’t know how soon they’ll move against Riverrun now that your brother’s forces have been defeated. Go tonight and go as far as you can, somewhere out of their reach. I’ll arrange to get Robb’s wife to safety, it’s too dangerous to send you together.” The Blackfish pats her head gently as she sits up, wiping her eyes. “Dry your tears now, Sansa, and pack what you need. We’ll not let them have you too.”

She nods, her expression turned to steel, and sets her sorrow aside for another time. 

Sandor leaves to gather his own things and the Blackfish follows. 

“Take her across the sea, to Essos.” Her great-uncle tells him, “Her safety is paramount. I trust you, Clegane. I know that you’d die to protect her. Keep her safe and keep her alive and one day when the time is right, bring her home again.”

“You have my word.” Sandor promises him, “Nobody will harm her, I’ll keep her safe.”

The Blackfish pauses, thinking on his next words with great care. “She is the last of them now, unless Arya can be found, the last of the Starks.” He fixes Sandor with a fierce gaze. “The bloodline must continue. She is young now and her grief is fresh but in a year or two… she must marry, and bear children.”

The thought of it stings him but he knows the truth of it. “I will see that she is found a good match, a worthy one.” He promises.

The Blackfish shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good man, Clegane, a better man than I thought. I have seen the way you look at her, the way she looks at you. If she should choose you… it would not be a bad thing. You have the look of the North, you have the strength and the will to do what needs to be done.”

It is not what he had expected, it is more than he had ever hoped for. 

“There is time yet to worry over that,” He rasps, “Let her have her time to heal and then make her own choices. Should she choose me… whatever happens I’ll ensure that her children are brought up as Starks and that one day she brings them safely home again.”

They shake upon it, an agreement that he will not tell her of. Let her make her own decision, in a year or two or three, when she has seen the world and knows more of it. 

Perhaps by that time it will be safe for her to come home, to choose freely among the highest of the land. 

The last of her house, the Queen of the North. 

Before the dawn light breaks, he steals her away.


	3. The truest name she ever had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by GRRM’s statement on whether Sandor and Sansa would meet again:
> 
> "Why, the Hound is dead, and Sansa may be dead as well. There’s only Alayne Stone."
> 
> As well as a quote from Jaime Lannister about how if Sansa is smart she’ll forget she’s a Stark and marry a blacksmith or an innkeep.

Petyr Baelish’s bastard daughter Alayne Stone elopes from the Vale of Arryn with an unknown sellsword, and nobody cares to look for her.

It is the beginning of Spring after all, a time for elopements. Just one month prior, Lord Baelish’s sworn sword Lothor Brune had eloped with Mya Stone, leaving his lord with no notice at all.

Perhaps she was inspired by the romance of it all, some of the Vale’s residents shrug. Perhaps he was an old lover of hers from her time at the motherhouse, others theorise.

In the end, Alayne Stone is only a bastard girl and if she has found some man to give her his name then so be it.

Lord Baelish had been the only one to care about it, demanding that guards be sent out immediately after the girl and her lover to bring them back, an unjustified reaction in the eyes of many.

Then a note in Alayne’s hand is found, accusing her father of slowly poisoning young Robert Arryn, and suddenly Lord Baelish had more pressing matters to attend to. The note states that when her father had finally seen her, he had noticed her resemblance to the missing Northern Princess, Sansa Stark, and concocted a scheme to gain the North through her. Poor Alayne’s conscience would not allow her to participate in such a terrible lie, and so she is leaving.

Petyr Baelish is judged guilty and put to death, nobody pays attention to his half mad ramblings about betrayal and Sansa Stark and Cat, Cat…

And so Alayne Stone remains unaccounted for, eloped with her lover, and nobody cares to look for her.

**

“I could take you North,” he had said when he came for her, “Take you home to Winterfell, help you reclaim it. It could be yours.”

“And you?” She had asked.

A question that could be taken in more than one way.

“I would fight for you, guard you, keep you safe.”

She thinks on it, it is not enough.

“Stand by while they marry me to some lord and give my birthright to him instead?”

“That’s the way of the world, little bird, and I know my place in it.”

Sansa Stark had once known her place in the world, but now she finds that things are less certain than they once were, her destiny is hers for the choosing for the first time in her life.

 

She is silent, and he sees her look down at her hands. His fate rests in those hands.

 

“I do not wish to reclaim my birthright, I do not want to go back North. I am a bastard now,” She tells him finally, “And the world does not work the same way for me anymore. Let Jon have Winterfell, or Arya if she ever comes back, just let it be anyone but me. Let Sansa be forgotten and let Alayne live. Take me to a heart tree and put your cloak around my shoulders and give me your name instead. Take me somewhere far away, anywhere other than North.”

“And whoever fucking said…”

She fixes him with a look, if he’s come for her after all these years then it does not need to be said.

“You don’t know what you’re giving up, this is madness.” He continues.

“I do know.” she counters. “I also know what I will gain.”

She is tired, so very tired. Tired of intrigues and tired of lies, tired of game of power where she is a prize to be won at the end. The North will never truly be hers, she will only ever be a sidenote, somebody else’s stepping stone on the way to power.

“You’re still married to the Imp.” He continues, waiting for her to challenge it even as she watches the birth of a strange emotion within his eyes.

“Tyrion can live or die as he pleases, and I doubt he is concerned of what becomes of me.” Her voice is determined then. “Sansa Stark married Tyrion Lannister, Alayne Stone is unwed and can marry where she pleases and nobody could care less.”

He kisses her there, in the darkness by the side of the road on the way to nowhere really, and it is not the way she had imagined it to be. The corner of his mouth is awkward where it was burned and he kisses her desperately and hard but his lips are soft and not so cruel as she had thought they would be.

In the end, it is the truest lie that she has ever known.

**

He marries her in front of a heart tree three days later, draping an olive green cloak around her shoulders.

It does not matter that it is not in his house colours. It does not matter that the cloak she sheds to receive his is black rather than grey and white.

The only witnesses to their marriage are the old gods and Sansa’s sole ornamentation is an early spring flower tucked behind her ear but it is a thousand times better than her first marriage.

But no, for Alayne this is the first marriage, she reminds herself.

The leaves of the heart tree rustle and she almost feels that she can hear her voice being called.

“I will be happy.” She tells the tree, “I will have a long life, a happy life and though I take another name, though I leave my House behind, I will not forget. I will never forget.”

Never.

He takes her to the nearest inn, and the room is small, and the mattress lumpy but it is still a thousand times better than the bedding that a girl once known as Sansa Stark had known.

He tries to be gentle with her, to ensure that she might have her pleasure as well, but he has been dying for the touch of her for years and she, while eager, is as nervous as she is excited. They fumble clumsily, desperately clinging, lips meeting when not upon each others bodies.

It hurts desperately, so badly that she needs to resist the urge to cry out, but it is a good pain, and she breathes through it. Then it is done, and she is relieved that it was not so frightening as she feared.

He holds her tightly afterwards, clutches her, and she thinks she can feel a wetness upon her hair where his cheek rests.

” I didn’t know, I thought…” she can feel him shaking his head. “And now… You could have married any lord that you wished.”

“Perhaps Sansa Stark could have, but Alayne Stone chose you.” She tells him, and tucks her head into his neck.

“I swear I will keep you happy, I swear it by whatever gods there are.” His voice is thick with a type of grief she thinks she recognises.

They only have each other now.

**

There are times when they lie together that he calls her Sansa, and she feels a type of loss for what she once was.

He has always hated pretense, hates lying even despite the necessity and so he calls her by his own name for her most often, Little Bird, coming easily to his lips.

In the end it is the truest name that she has ever had. She is the little bird who managed to find its wings and fly away.

Alayne Stone has the life that she chose, her very own happy ending.

Sansa Stark is never heard of in Westeros again.


	4. A Time for Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post ADWD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Here's another little one-shot, I'm looking forward to more writing, reading and interaction with all of you in the New Year :)

The wolves are howling again.

It had started a week ago, a single voice raised at the moon. Sansa recalls shivering suddenly, a feeling, a remembrance, _Lady_.   

Every night since then, more voices have joined the first, howling in chorus. A huge pack is now gathered outside the Gates of the Moon, vanishing by daylight but reappearing once more when the sun sets.

The lords of the Vale discuss taking a party out to hunt them and drive them away, and the villagers tell stories of the monstrous she-wolf who leads them, larger than any horse.

Mothers keep their children close and Lord Baelish has ordered that nobody is to step outside while they remain, yet Sansa is not scared.

There is something strangely familiar in the howling, in the one voice that rises louder than the others, something that calls to her. Alayne would have hidden beneath her covers and wished them to be quiet, but since the night that the wolves first began to call, Sansa has begun to shake Alayne off, to remove that girl’s skin and reclaim her own. She sits by her bedroom’s open window to listen to them and feels her strength grow every night.

The moon has only just risen and the voice of the leader of the pack with it, and Sansa wears her warmest cloak and steps outside. Slowly she makes her way to the gates, nodding and smiling at the guards she passes. If they think to question her they do not, and Sansa waits until the back of the nearest guard is turned before she exits through the postern gate.

She walks forward, almost to the edge of the light of the torches, and waits. 

She does not need to wait long. There is a sudden silence as the howling stops and then from the shadows, Sansa sees the she-wolf that leads the pack step forward.

It has been years since they saw one another, and the direwolf now stands as tall as Sansa, perhaps taller. They look at one another for one long moment, recognizing, remembering. Then Sansa takes two steps forward and extends her hand, laying it upon the soft fur on Nymeria’s muzzle.

“Sister.” Sansa greets her, and it is right. “Have you come for me at last?”

The direwolf dips her large head as if in assent, butting gently at Sansa’s shoulder, and she cannot help but smile, help but thread her fingers through the thick fur in a gesture of love.

The postern gate opens suddenly and Lord Baelish steps out, guards reluctantly following him, crossbows in their arms.

“Alayne, what are you doing?” He calls to her, “Come back here at once, back away slowly.”

“Alayne is gone now.” Sansa informs him, and then she turns back to Nymeria. “That man, do you see him, Sister? He was responsible for Father’s death, and then he tried to take his place. That man caused harm to our pack, caused the death of our Father.”

Sansa does not need to say more, Nymeria knows what must be done.

She leaps forward before the crossbows can even be raised and the guards scatter, running back for the gate. Petyr Bailish is not so fast nor so lucky and soon he is nothing more than a stain upon the snow.

Sansa does not avert her eyes.

The direwolf returns to her and lies down upon the snow and Sansa knows what she must do now. Quickly she climbs onto Nymeria’s back and tangles her fingers in the direwolf’s thick fur, clutches her tightly. The night is cold but the she-wolf is warm under her, and Sansa leans forward to speak in her ear.

“Let us go home, Sister.” Sansa tells her, and Nymeria begins to run.

**

The journey takes weeks, travelling by night and resting by day, running through the forest rather than upon the roads. Sansa curls up with her wolf-sister for warmth and finds that she sleeps better than she has in years, that for once there are no nightmares.

Nymeria hunts, and brings back food for her sister, but Sansa does not know how to prepare it. Instead they stop in towns and villages along the way, appearing from out of the shadows and into the light. The townsfolk look upon Sansa with fear, a girl who rides an enormous wolf, and provide her with bread and other provisions when she asks.

 _The Wolf Queen_ , they whisper when she is out of sight, and tales of a young maiden who rides upon a direwolf soon begin to make their way across the realm. 

They reach the outskirts of Winterfell, covered in snow and in the grips of a blizzard and Sansa dismounts, stands beside Nymeria and places one hand upon her flank. They have stopped upon the way to ask and Sansa knows who holds her home now, knows who currently sits within.

“There are foes inside, enemies, traitors who harmed our pack.” She tells Nymeria, “But perhaps there are some friends as well, biding their time until they may take revenge for us. You will know which is which by the smell of them. Harm not our friends but make those who betrayed us pay for what they have done. The North Remembers. Let it ever remember this night, let it never forget what happens to traitors and oathbreakers.”

Sansa walks forward and knocks upon the outer gate. In the space of time it takes for the guard to open it and see her, the wolves are already upon him.

**

Afterwards, she picks her way through the carnage, ignoring the dozens of eyes upon her, watching her every move. There are Manderly and Umber men here as well as others, all of whom turned on the Boltons and the Freys as soon as they saw her and the wolves. There is time enough for Sansa to speak to them, for now she makes her way to where Nymeria sits, looming over the prone body of Roose Bolton, his bastard son’s corpse strewn in pieces nearby. Looking down, Sansa sees that the man is still breathing, though barely. He looks up at her with disbelief, opening his mouth but unable to speak.

“The North Remembers.” Sansa tells him gravely, and watches while the light in his eyes dies before she turns away, turns back to her family’s loyal bannermen.

Staring at her with a mixture of awe and fear, one by one they take the knee, fat old Lord Manderly the first to do so.

“The Stark in Winterfell.” One man murmurs.

“Queen of the North.” Another says.

“Queen of the Wolves.” One younger boy breathes, staring as Nymeria lies down at Sansa’s feet, for now quiet and at peace.

All Sansa knows is that she is finally home.

**

When Stannis’s forces arrive at the castle, expecting a bloody battle, they find the gates opened to them instead.

Upon the high seat of Winterfell sits Sansa Stark, a massive direwolf lounging at her feet.

“Only until my brothers return.” Sansa tells her lords bannermen, never intending to claim the seat for herself. She does not wish to be Queen in the North, she never has. She will not give the seat up though, not for anyone other than her blood.

It matters not if she takes the title of Queen of the North, they shall always think of her as the Queen of Wolves regardless.

She begins to put her home to rights, her sister-wolf always following at her heels, guarding her.

“Tell your mistress to hurry home,” Sansa tells Nymeria, hoping that the bond between she and Arya still remains. “Tell your brothers also that we are waiting for them, to welcome them back.”

She knows that it may take time, that they are all far away, yet she knows that they will heed her call, that eventually they will return.

All of the wolves will come again.

In the meantime, having heard the stories, others arrive.

A tall female warrior from Tarth who once served Sansa’s lady mother; She will serve Sansa now, she swears, and Sansa takes her oath of fealty.

A scarred man, a loyal Hound, whom Sansa had once believed dead. He is changed now, as she is, and he pledges to serve her too. She takes his vow, the only one he has ever made, and knows that he will never let her down.

She names him _pack_ to Nymeria. She thinks, as he follows her around the castle with hungry eyes, that perhaps one day she will name him _mate_.

There is time for that though, time enough now.

One by one they will come home, the missing members of her pack, and Sansa knows that their time has come at last.

A time for wolves.


	5. Antigonish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this is taken from the poem at the beginning rather than as any reference to Antigone!

_Yesterday, upon the stair,_   
_I met a man who wasn’t there_   
_He wasn’t there again today_   
_I wish, I wish he’d go away..._

She is not quite sure when it happens, or how, but somewhere along the way she begins to hear the Hound's voice in her head.

 _You didn't like that half so well as my kiss, did you now?_ He rasps, after Petyr's lips touch hers in the snow. _Can't compare buggering Littlefinger's kiss to a real man's, now can you?_

She has no reply to that, because despite the fact that he is a figment of her imagination, he is also perfectly right.

She wonders if she is starting to go mad. If somewhere between captivity and the deaths of every member of her family, she has lost her wits.

It would not be a shock to her if she had, after all, she has already lost herself.

'Leave me be. You are not really here', she whispers to his memory. Yet she does not mean it, not truly. She does not wish to be so truly alone as she now is, and a figment is better than nothing.

He is there again, whispering in her head, as the weeks go on.

 _And what was all that your crazy cow of an Aunt was saying about the tears in her husband's wine?_ He whispers as Sansa lies awake at night, shivering beneath her covers and trying to ignore Marillion's never ending songs. _Seems to me the old bat had something to say before the end and you'd best remember it, best understand it._

'I don't know, I don't, really I don’t. Oh please, won't you leave me be?' She whispers to the empty night, but it is another one of her lies and she hears the echo of his mocking laughter in reply.

He is there sometimes and others not, yet always she feels him in the back of her mind, a reassuring presence. She tells herself that she does not wish to hear him, that it is a sign of madness and that she must stop it somehow, but always she listens, and always she waits.

 _Become such a good liar now haven't you, little bird? A pretty little liar,_ he whispers in her silences, _Such a good liar, you'll believe those lies yourself soon._

'I do, I do, oh won't you go away?' She pleads, and wonders whether if she becomes Alayne completely, he might. Alayne never knew the Hound, Alayne never knew half the people that Sansa did, nor saw half the sorrow or pain. 

Go away, she says, yet she clings to Sansa all the tighter so as not to lose him.

 _If Littlefinger thinks himself your father, he means it in the manner of Lannisters and Targaeryans,_ He mocks, as she dodges yet another kiss, politely excuses herself away from Petyr Bailish's presence.

'He saved me,' she whispers back. 'He saved me from King's Landing. He saved me or else the Lannisters would have killed me.'

_And why's that, stupid little bird? Chirping the lies that he's taught you now, are you? He used you to murder Joffrey then bought you from Ser Dontos for 10,000 gold pieces and gave your price in blood. Littlefinger helps none but himself and remember that well, aye, remember it through all he does._

'But he saved me, he loved my mother, he...'

_And if he loved her so well, then why would he be boasting to anyone who'd listen about fucking her before your father did? Littlefinger never loved anyone but Littlefinger. Littlefinger never saved you till it suited him, never lifted a finger to save you till there was some meaning for him in it. Would've let Joffrey beat you and smiled all the while. Would've let the crowd have you that day and watched as they took you in turns. You ask yourself now, little bird, who was it that saved you back then? Again and again, for no reason except to keep you safe?_

'Only you,' She whispers, but it is too late and she is the only one that is listening. 'Only you.'

He is gone a week, then a month, then longer. She does not hear him as Littlefinger tells her of his plans to betroth her to Harry Hardyng but she can hear his mocking laughter ringing in her ears all the same.

And what would Littlefinger gain if Sansa Stark were to retake Winterfell and be proclaimed Queen of the North?

She knows, oh she knows, she no longer needs him to tell her in order to see past the lies. She can speak these truths in her own voice now.

She does not hear him anymore, though she continues to speak to him regardless, whispers her truths and fears to him in the dead of night when nobody else can hear.

'Won't you come back to me?' She whispers, 'Won't you take me from here and keep me safe like you promised you would?'

He does not reply of course. 

He never really was there.

**

A year passes and winter falls, and as the preparations for Sansa's betrothal feast begins, a group of Brothers from the Quiet Isle are swept to the Vale of Arryn along with a storm.

There is a large brother who walks with a limp, his face hidden by his hood. It seems to Sansa as if he watches her whenever she is near. He never speaks but Sansa doesn't need him to, she knows, she knows, she knows.

She can almost hear his voice inside her head, can almost hear the things he might tell her now.

She follows him in turn, waits until he's alone to make her move.

'Yes, I'll go with you.' She tells him, entering his room and closing the door behind her.

He pulls the hood down, and she sees his face for the first time in an age. He is just as ugly as he ever was and she doesn't care, she doesn't. She won't look away this time, won't look away ever.

He stares at her, something in his eyes she can't pinpoint, and shakes his head. 'Crazy little bird, when did I ask you?'

'You would have,' she tells him, and doesn't doubt it for a moment. 'You saved me, saved me again and again in King's Landing. You'll save me now and take me away from here. You'll keep me safe, kill anybody that would hurt me.'

She has said the words a thousand times since she last heard his voice, said them and received no reply.

She receives none now either. His eyes are dark upon her and he curses foully, but he unsheathes his sword, and reaching out, picks her up around the waist and hoists her over his shoulder, carrying her outside to where his horse is stabled.

It is alright, she needs no words from him.

She already knows everything that he might wish to say.

She's said it a thousand times herself.


	6. Only One

He corners them in the throne room as they seek to make their escape, the door shut heavily behind him that they would have made their way through to the courtyard beyond.

Petyr Baelish looks at his ward, and the large, cloaked Brother who stands behind her. The man is an unlikely foil to his plans, but if he has guessed her true identity he may be seeking to take her for the Faith to use for their own purposes.

That will not be happening while Petyr has a say. He has worked and planned too hard for it to unravel due to one rogue monk. He makes his way forward, noting the way the Brother keeps his hands hidden within the confines of his cloak.

He makes his way to them, where they stand just before the Moon Door, Sansa glancing warily towards it where it stands open still from the afternoon's audiences.

"Alayne, daughter, just what do you think you're doing?" Peter questions her, hand even now upon his dagger, an ear to the door outside as if to choose the correct moment in which to call the guards.

"I am not Alayne, Lord Baelish," Sansa replies with calm resolution, having thrown off that name once and for all in the hours previous to reclaim herself. "You know who I am, and it is time for me to fulfil my duty to my House."

"And you will," Littlefinger promises, wheedles, ever with an eye to the large form behind her. He takes a step forward as if to coax her, careful to avoid the gaping pit on his right. "You know that I will help you to take your revenge, to gain justice for your family, it is what I have been working towards all these years. You have only to wait for everything to fall into place."

"I am done waiting, and I have no desire to follow your plan. It has never been what I wanted and it is not for me, it never has been. You have planned for you alone."

"How could you say that?" He is angry now, hissing like one of the stray cats Arya used to chase in Kings Landing. He steps closer now, walks to her to grab her wrist, even as her companion makes a move to stop him only to cease at a slight gesture from Sansa. "Everything I have done is for you and for the love I had for your mother."

"I thank you for all you may have done, Lord Baelish," Sansa replies with calm formality, "But I will be leaving now, I have made my choice. I must return to the North, where I belong. Where I am needed." 

She knows well what Littlefinger is now, but she will not speak it to him, not now when they are so close to freedom.

His normally controlled facade crumbles now and he drags her several steps by her wrist, the Moon Gate perilously close now. "After everything that I have done for you? I watched over you in King's Landing, and kept you safe. When you had no friends left I rescued you, and took you away from there. I kept you hidden here while they searched for you. I was the only one who cared for you, the only friend you had. You would be dead now, or worse, if not for me! How could you forget that?"

Sansa knows he sees it all slipping away from him now, all his carefully laid plans. His hysteria is evident, as everything he has long wished for begins to fall from his grasp. She reaches forward and calmly but forcefully removes her wrist from his grasp, causing him to step back.

It would be so easy just to push him, from where he now stands. With one movement she could reach out and end everything he's tried to accomplish with her, once and for all.

"You are right, Lord Baelish. In the time I was captive in King's Landing, there was only one person who cared for my welfare, or tried to keep me safe. I did not know it at the time, but I had only one true friend, only one person there who I could trust, whom I can still trust. I can never forget that."

He breathes out, calm beginning to return as he hears her words. He believes she will listen to him now, that she knows what is owed to him for all he has done.

"Only one? You do understand then, Sansa. Promise me you won't try to leave me again."

"Only one," Sansa agrees as she glances back at her companion, briefly meeting his eyes before she fixes her gaze on Littlefinger; she is steel entirely now. Behind her, her companion removes his hood, eyes glittering within his half burned face.

"Only the Hound."

She doesn't even need to push him, the misstep Littlefinger takes when he stumbles in shock is sufficient to do the job.

Petyr Baelish never screams, there is only the sound of the wind outside. 

Soon enough Sandor Clegane has taken Sansa Stark's arm, and it is as if they had never been there at all.


End file.
